Fools of the world, who dream that dreams are true—
Believing still that life is what it seems,
And trustful that the world is more than dreams—
Free for a little, I have laughed at you:
Knowing all this is a ghostly gossamer
In some eternal room of darkness spun;
A laughter of forgotten gods that were,
Echoing still in waste oblivion.
But once again, as others, I have lent
myself to earthly ways and earthly walls:
Illusion of illusion, fantasy
Of doubtful phantoms, nevermore to be
When slumber on the last delirium falls
And lulls the tossing shadows turbulent.